This mom of four, who happens to be deaf, does whatever she sets her mind to—from working in Hollywood to lobbying in Congress.Every day, working mothers defy labels and push ahead despite what society tells them they can and cannot do. I feel that I've lived such a life—one marked by the determination to conquer obstacles no matter what others think possible.Life wasn't much different for me than it was for anyone else growing up in the 1970s in Morton Grove, IL. With my hearing aids firmly planted in my ears, I walked around like the most popular girl in town, an attitude my parents totally encouraged. To them, I was notable, not my deafness, and I was treated with love and respect. So every day they opened the door and encouraged me to explore, letting me roam the neighborhood, walk to stores by myself and even meet new kids on my own. Yes, I was "different." And, yes, people were often cruel, but that was just part of growing up—deaf or not.

Growing up as a Matlin meant there was an answer for everything. When kids made fun of my hearing aids, I would tell them the devices were just big globs of bubble gum. And when some kids made fun of my speech, my brothers jumped to my defense and said, "Our sister doesn't talk funny. She has a mysterious accent because our parents are foreign spies."

But it was when I faced my own atti-tude about my hearing that my parents helped me understand that deafness was in my mind and not in my ears. It happened when they got the city to put up a big yellow sign right in front of our house that read "Caution: Deaf Child Crossing." At first, I fought that sign hard. But my mom and dad told me that it wasn't about a handicap. Though it might as easily have said, "Deaf girl lives here. You better slow down," they told me the sign had another message: "Hi, I'm Marlee. Want to stop by? I'll be your best friend!" Besides, they asked me, what other kid in the neighborhood had her own sign?!

The sign ultimately became one of the defining moments of my life. That's why I used it as the title of my first novel for children, Deaf Child Crossing, about a young girl who just happens to be deaf, dealing with the ups and downs of growing up. When I was researching the book, my dad admitted another motive for putting up the sign. You see, whenever his buddies were coming over, he would tell them: "Just look for that big yellow sign with the deaf kid warning on it, and that's where you know to park your car." No one ever got lost coming to our house!

It was my mother who helped me discover my love for acting. She saw it as the perfect outlet for the girl who adored reading and standing in front of the bathroom mirror creating fantastic characters. In books there was no struggle to hear the words, and in my mirror everyone signed perfectly. Eventually we found a more productive outlet: a small community theater near our home that served both hearing and deaf children. When I first walked in at age 7, I learned they were putting on The Wizard of Oz. No need to tell you who got the part of Dorothy.

Despite predictions of many in Hollywood that my Oscar for Children of a Lesser God was the result of a pity vote and that I would disappear like so many one-hit wonders, I am still—as I was—a working actress who happens to be deaf. I tell people the only thing I can't do is hear. I'm also, and perhaps more importantly, a mother of four great kids, ages 10, 6, 4 and 3. And I'm a Girl Scout leader, cook, carpool driver, mediator, closet organizer and pretend math whiz. Being a mom of four is challenging, especially now that I'm working full-time on Showtime's The L Word. I manage to make it work, because my husband, police officer Kevin Grandalski, is beside me the whole way. Whether I'm traveling and working, Girl Scouting or carpooling, it all happens because he's there with his love and sup-port 24/7, filling in, taking the reins when I phys-ically cannot be in two places at once.

All in all, I relish the challenges I face every day. Most of the barriers I come up against are more humorous than distressing. To say the least, I've had some interesting encounters. Once, while I was doing a television show for NBC, a studio executive came to the set to watch me at work. After a few moments, he went over to the show's producer and commented, "That Marlee is fantastic! Is she going to be deaf for the entire series?" And once on a plane waiting for takeoff, the flight attendant handed me a dinner menu. She noticed me signing and suddenly held up her finger and grabbed the menu out of my hand. A few moments later, she returned with a new menu—in Braille.

I tell these stories not to trivialize the barriers facing people like myself but rather to show that breaking through barriers often means doing it with a smile. I work every day to help people understand, as my parents taught me, that deaf people not only deserve respect, they deserve to be heard.Fifteen years ago, I lobbied Congress on behalf of closed captioning and millions of hearing-impaired Americans. Today, closed captioning is everywhere, providing access for more than 31 million who are hearing impaired and also helping people learning English as a second language and children learning to read. It even works great in bars and at the gym! I'll continue to work to ensure that ex-ec-utives in Hollywood and across the entertainment industry understand their responsibility to provide programming that's accessible to all.

My life is no longer about hearing aids and speech classes. Nor is it about whether or not a deaf person can make it in Hollywood. It's about listening, listening to my heart. In the end, silence will be the last thing the world will hear from me. And I hope that goes for all of you.

This Month's guest columnist: Marlee Matlin is the youngest recipient of the Academy Award for best actress, for Children of a Lesser God, in 1987 at age 21. She has appeared in 15 movies and more than 20 television programs and is currently a regular on the Showtime drama series The L Word. Also a children's book author and philanthropist, she lives with her family in the Los Angeles area.